


The Wolves in France

by robfromtherich



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Alcohol, Badass OFC, Baseball, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gun Violence, Historical References, I've never smoked cigs but boy they used to, Military, Native American Character(s), Native American/First Nations Culture, Romance, Slow Burn, Some Fluff, Some Humor, World War II, some violence, tobacco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robfromtherich/pseuds/robfromtherich
Summary: Ella was an orphan, wandering the wilderness of Tennessee when she happened upon the criminal that would become her best friend and brother in arms. She is the Wölfin, and she has a taste for Nazi blood.Tags & characters will be added with chapters! Originally published on ff.net, revised for AO3
Relationships: Donny Donowitz/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. Nowhere Else To Go

Her lips were chapped from dehydration. A sand crack had started in her mare’s hoof, and while it didn’t hurt Windy yet, Ella had to be careful and ride a little less each day to make sure it didn’t get worse. She didn’t sleep at night for fear of being ambushed, or attacked by some wild animal. She had ditched her saddle once it got hot enough for her to wake up sweating in the middle of the night. Windy preferred bareback, Ella could tell, but it was harder on Ella. She carried her bedroll on her back, along with the food she had been saving and foraging, and her cheeks had begun to look a little too hollow.

She had nowhere else to go, so she had to keep moving.

Ella's eyes were closed when Windy shied and snorted. She jerked awake to come face-to-face with what she first thought was a wildman. His hair was long and tangled, and his clothes were torn and hanging loosely on his body. What made her pause was the blood seeping from a wound on his throat, as if someone had tried to hang him and failed.

He held a finger to his lips, his eyes desperate. For a moment, Ella did nothing, stunned by the sight of this terrified man, but then shouts and snapping branches broke her stupor. Ella turned and whispered as loud as she could. "Hide!"

He hesitated, and she knew he didn't trust her, but what choice did this man have? He must have reached the same conclusion because he shimmied up one of the thick trees and pulled the leaves around him.

Three men broke through the trees and skidded to a stop in front of Ella. Windy snorted again, dancing in place a little. There were too many people running around for the mare’s comfort.

“You lookin for a man with blood on his neck?” she said, drawing their attention. 

“What d’you care?” the first man grunted, out of breath. 

“I don’t. I just saw him go that way.” She pointed to her left. “Damn near spooked my mare to throwin’ --”

“Let’s go,” the man interrupted, not caring one way or the other what else Ella said. They took off again, forgetting about her in their pursuit of the wild man. Ella watched them go until they were out of sight. She looked up into the tree and it took her a second to find the wild man. At least he had hidden himself well. 

The branches crackled as he started to climb. Halfway down, one broke under him and he fell flat-backed to the ground. Ella sighed and dismounted, tying Windy’s reins at her shoulder. She dug her canteen out of her bedroll and knelt next to the wild man.

“Fresh, from the creek. Can you sit up?” Ella put a hand under his shoulder and gave him a push when he tried. He slouched over forward, his breathing harsh. Once she was sure he was upright, she unscrewed the cap and held the canteen to his lips.

“I got it,” the man huffed, snatching the canteen out of her hands.

“You’re welcome,” Ella snapped back.

“Who’re you?” the man sputtered, his voice rough, gasping after a long pull of water.

“Ella. Who’re you?” she retorted. “Not like I just saved your life or anything.”

“I know.” He took another swallow of the water, wincing. Ella stood up and went to Windy, stroking her face.

“What did you do? They lynch you?”

The man just looked up at her. Ella had meant for it to be a joke, but suddenly she realized they actually had tried to lynch him.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and spoke. “I killed the sheriff’s son.”

Ella cocked her head at him. “Why?”

The wild man looked up at her and chuckled, which turned into a hacking cough. He stifled it with water. “I loved his daughter. We was gonna run off. Her brother beat the shit out of her when he learnt. Broke her to pieces, he did. So I killed the sum’bitch. She heard what I did and sent me a letter sayin’ she never wanted to see me again. So I guess I can’t go back there no more.”

Ella knelt next to him again. “S’okay. I killed the men that killed my Papa. Sometimes, if someone did something really, really, wrong, they deserve to die, too.” She took the canteen back and drank some herself. The wildman’s accent was strong, and Ella guessed he had grown up here in the mountains.

“How old’re you, Ella?”

“Fifteen. From Bell County, Kentucky. Where are we?”

“You ain’t got no idea where you are?”

“I’ve just been riding. I let Windy take me.”

“We’re outside Maynardville, Tennessee. You say they killed your Pa. Where’s your mama?”

“Dead from fever. Seven years ago." Aldo saw just a flash of emotion on her face. "You never gave me your name, wild man.”

“Wild man? That’s a good one,” he chuckled again. “Aldo Raine. Now we better get outta here ‘fore they come back and try to kill us both. Ella what?”

“Ella Demski.” Aldo was suspicious of Ella, but she had her own doubts about him. Ella knew too well how cruel people could be.

“You Scandanavian?” Aldo stood up, bent over, his hands on his knees.

“Polish," she corrected. "At least my name is." She went back to Windy, lacing her hands into the soft leather reins. “You okay, Mr. Raine?”

“I’ll be fine. Just gotta catch my breath, is all.” He stood tall, trying his hardest not to move his neck. The wound was starting to scab. It wasn’t deep, but it was rough, the skin torn by the rope they had thrown and tightened around his neck. It would probably scar. “Call me Aldo.”

“All right, Aldo then.” Ella lined up with Windy's shoulder and rocked back on her heels. With two steps she swung herself up and over, settling lightly on Windy's back. She scanned the forest around her, looking for the way she came, but the trees ran together and she was suddenly lost.

"Ella, you got anywhere you're goin'?" 

Her eyes fell to her hands, wound in Windy's mane. "No, sir."

Aldo took a step toward the horse, holding out his hand in a loose fist for her to sniff. Windy snorted a little but let him pet her neck after a moment. "Well, why don't we head along east to Johnson City. I got a brother can give us a place to stay."

"Why're you inviting me?" Her question was blunt, without manners, but he didn't blame her.

"'Cause you ain't got anywhere else to go, and you helped me out right then. Figure I owe it to you."

Trust was hardly familiar to her now, but she felt a glimmer as he pet her horse and waited patiently for an answer. "Well," she replied. "You're about right." 

* * *

  
  


Ella was stunned to find that Aldo read more than she did. The two of them weren't apart much after that day in the woods. Aldo taught Ella to shoot, and she taught him the French she had learned. Aldo made money moonshining and Ella read every book and newspaper she could get her hands on. Aldo had interest in the newspapers, particularly when there were war stories. She integrated into the city well, much better than Aldo did. She could turn from Kentucky-born farm girl to city socialite at the drop of a hat. She improved her French to the point of fluency and began on her German. More and more often she read about the Nazis the ones her father had scorned with bourbon on his breath. 

In 1942, four years after the two had met in the Tennessee mountains, Aldo came back from the post office to the café where Ella waited in their home base of Knoxville. She had a newspaper in her hands, as usual, and only looked up when he sat across from her. Ella recognized the seal on the envelope before he sat down: U.S. Army. 

“They want me to train in Montana. Special Forces, El. I told them I wasn’t going without you.”

Ella raised her eyebrows, folding up her newspaper. “Oh, really? And what did they say to that?”

“I just got the last letter. They said we’d better high-tail it out there.”

Ella had no other home and Aldo wanted to go back more than he would ever admit. It was in his eyes when she asked about the letters, when he was just drunk enough to tell her a story or two from his first stint in Europe, when he was ready to fight. She couldn't imagine a life back in the city, alone and bored, let alone without Aldo. "Let's get goin', then."

Aldo was much more than just a soldier. He was in the First Secret Service Force, which brought them to Helena, Montana. From there it was up to Ella to prove herself, and it was the hardest she'd ever work in her life. The training worked her nearly to death, jumping out of planes and training to become part of what was to be an elite regiment. They learned everything from parachuting and enemy weapons use to skiing and rock climbing on a strict schedule. She tried her damndest to keep up with the men and succeeded. If anyone challenged her, Ella would point out the numbers: second in marksmanship, fifth in the marathon, on and on. When the F.S.S.F., or Devil’s Brigade, finished its training and eventually prepared to invade Italy in 1943, Ella was made a supporting soldier. She was only to be put into action if some of the Devil’s Brigade were hurt, killed, or MIA. She fought tooth and nail against Colonel Frederick when she heard, going so far as to start the meeting she called to discuss her optioning by shouting in his face. 

“Goddamnit, Colonel, you know damn well I’m better than half the men you got here and I don’t give a flying fuck who you are, you can not pull me out now just because I’m a girl!” Ella stood before him in her uniform shirt and swing pants, her hands placed firmly on his desk, knocking over his letter opener on its stand. 

The Colonel worked his jaw back and forth, staring angrily at Ella. “Private Demski, we will bring you to Italy, to be sure, but this decision does not come down to me. Understand you would not be deployed at all if it were not for me. I should have you arrested for such insubordination. I know you're angry. I know that you are one of the best soldiers I’ve got, and you will stay with us as long as I can manage. You are one ruthless soldier, and your time will come in this war. I know it. Keep studying your languages, become fluent in German, and I will see you on the plane.” He paused, setting his letter opener upright again. “And if I were you, I would never challenge a superior officer again. Once more  _ will _ get you thrown out.”

She left his office and retreated towards the barracks, frustrated tears forming in her eyes. She would not cry, not in front of her fellow soldiers, so she focused on finding Aldo to tell him the situation. 

“El,” he called from the flagpole. He had been taking a cigarette break, and Ella was relieved to see both him and his pack of smokes. She stomped over to him and took the offered cigarette, holding it with shaky fingers to her lips as he flicked his lighter open. She took a deep drag.

“I knew this would happen, Aldo. I knew it. I’m a reserve soldier. I’m going to Italy but I won’t be doing anything. I’ll be sittin’ on my ass, waiting for someone to die or the war to end.”

“Come on, El. I know the Colonel, and I’m sure he’ll find something for you to do. Intelligence, or reconnaissance, or something. You’re a smart girl. He knows that.”

“Dammit, Aldo, I know, but I wanna kill some fuckin’ Nazis! That’s what we came here for! One of the last things I heard my father say was how if he was younger, he’d be taking back Poland himself. His parents were still there. They’re not now, cause God knows they wouldn't stand for any of that Nazi bullshit, but I’m still here and I didn’t train for 14 hours a day for half a year and work my ass off to be set aside as a stupid trophy.”

“C’mere,” Aldo said, taking her chin in his hand. “You are a damned good soldier, Ella. I know you deserve it. You’re tougher than most of these guys here. You see the world different. I’ll see to it myself that you make a difference in this war. Got it? You’re my girl. I fuckin’ promise you.”

Half a smile appeared on her face. “You fuckin’ better,” she mumbled, dropping the butt of her cigarette and grinding it out. “I gotta go pack for Italy.”

“Right behind you, girl.”


	2. Promotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brigade goes into Italy and Ella and Aldo find their calling.

The Devil’s Brigade began in Norway and were given missions to take out key points and officers vital to the Germans’ occupation. They moved on to Italy’s mountains in December 1943 to allow the rest of the Allied army to reach and retake Rome. On the assault on the mountain called Monte la Difensa, Colonel Frederick finally took Ella off of reserve and put her on the front, next to Aldo. Snow covered the mountain, but every breath of freezing air that Ella took into her lungs made her heart beat faster, her scope eye sharper, her trigger finger faster. The 1st regiment with Ella and Aldo moved in to take la Difensa, which was supposed to be a two-day operation.

The mountain was taken in three hours.

The two regiments were making their way towards the other side of the mountain when their Lieutenant Colonel MacWilliam was shot down. Colonel Frederick halted the assault to call for reinforcements and supplies, and Ella huddled by Aldo to wait.

“Y’know, for how many times this mountain’s been claimed, Monte la Difensa is not the best name for it.”

“What’s it mean?” Every time she mentioned a word in another language, he asked her what it meant. With her studies, it used to be a few times a day. It was like he was quizzing her, making sure she was studying. 

“Aldo, what does it sound like it means?” 

“All right, I get it.” He shook his head, never responding when she quizzed him back. “I told you, girl. Yer’ on the front for our most important assault yet.”

She elbowed her best friend. “Shush, you. And thanks. For keeping me going.”

“I had to. Yer’ the brains, I’m the braun. We need each other.”

_ “Whiskey!” _ someone called from closer to camp.  _ “Come on, Brigade!” _

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Ella sighed. “Let’s go, before it’s gone.”

* * *

Ella came out wounded, but just a little - a bullet had grazed her upper arm, and she hadn’t even noticed until they were relieved by the 142nd infantry. There were casualties; of course there were, but they had made a major step forward for the Allies and retaking Italy. The Brigade headed towards their next assignment in Anzio.

Once they had come down from the mountains, they set up camp and had a few days to recuperate. “Sergeant Raine,” Colonel Frederick called as Aldo passed with his face freshly shaven - except for his moustache. “Fetch Private Demski and report back to me in my tent.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, and double-timed it back to the tent he shared with Ella. He was the only one that was ever allowed to bunk with her, mostly because he refused to let any of the other men near her off the field. She was lying on her back, her hands on her chest and her legs crossed, eyes closed. Aldo looked down at her for a moment before waking her. Peace showed on her face, a rare thing nowadays. Though Aldo had watched her grow into one beautiful woman, for the past year her brows had been creased, her eyes determined, her lips set in a hard line. She was finally relaxed, something Aldo hadn’t seen in a long time. And even though she looked relaxed now, when she woke up and was unleashed onto the world to fight, Aldo knew she would thrive on each vindictive kill she made.

“El, the Colonel wants to see us,” Aldo murmured, nudging her. She scrunched up her face before stretching and sitting up.

“What for? He tell you?”

“Nope, just told me to fetch you.”

Pulling on her wool coat and her boots, Ella stood up. “Well, I doubt it’s anything bad."

“From what I heard, he didn’t sound mad. Let’s get goin’.”

They jogged to the Colonel’s tent and Aldo rapped on one of the poles that held up the fabric. “Sergeant Raine and Private Demski, sir.”

“Come in.”

There were two men in the tent, one marked with the four stars of a General. Ella and Aldo snapped to attention, their eyes straight ahead.

“At ease, soldiers. This is General Alexander. He has control of the fate of the First Service, but he has additional plans for you. First of all, however, I would like to present you, Aldo Raine, with the rank of First Lieutenant.” He brought one hand from behind his back and revealed a silver stripe pin. Aldo saluted again, and the Colonel saluted back. 

“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor.”

The Colonel nodded. “Secondly, I would like to award you, Ella Demski, with the rank of Corporal. Keep in mind that we usually reserve this rank for those who had been in service more than a year, but in this particular case, we felt a little leniency was necessary.” In his other hand was a patch with two gold, pointed stripes.

Ella, her eyes wide, snapped off a salute. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’ve done remarkably well, Demski. You earned it.” He saluted back to her. Now 20 years old, she had thought she’d just finish the war as a Private, be told to keep quiet about her position and her role in combat, and go back to the states to bum around some more, maybe take up moonshining with Aldo. Now, she had something that she could call herself. And it was something she wanted with all her heart. 

“Now, General Alexander, I believe you wanted to brief them?”

The General stood up and addressed the newly ranked soldiers. “I will speak bluntly. We have decided to use guerilla tactics against the Nazis to help end this war. For, ah, reasons unspoken, I heard you two were the best to go to.”

A devilish smile crossed Aldo’s face. “Yes sir, you heard right.”

“Then you are my man. Lieutenant Raine, you will put together a team of eight soldiers, including Corporal Demski and a Sergeant of my choosing as your right hand...men, so to speak.” Ella heard his hesitation. No matter - this was probably the first time he had addressed a woman as such. She was happy to be the first. “We need this war to end soon. You’ll be coming with me to England, selecting your soldiers from our suggested files, and shipping out to France. I chose you for a reason. You have the special forces training necessary to fit this particular type of warfare. I want you to kill as many Godforsaken Nazis as you can.”

Aldo’s chest puffed up. The same smile that Aldo was wearing had appeared on Ella. Aldo looked at her, the once-upon-a-time the girl that had just cocked her head when he had told her he had killed a man, now the woman that had become like his sister and would gladly kill alongside him. Pride couldn’t even begin to describe it. “When do we leave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry...we'll get some Donny time next chapter!


	3. The English Base

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ride in the arena leads to more than a workout.

Ella and Aldo arrived in England and were welcomed by rain. Her presence was new to the soldiers on the American base and Ella fielded strange, hateful looks when she walked by. Some men even spit at her feet -- which she could have had them disciplined for. Instead, she stared them down, tapping her carefully sewn-on Corporal's patch and waving them on. Before, she had kept her black hair short and always tied back, but now she had to grow it out to stay in style if her new regiment sent her to recon in towns. She had taken to curling it, and now it bounced easily around her face and shoulders. Seamstresses off base were customizing dresses by adding a little extra room for a thigh holster and a blade on Ella’s belt. It was her paradise, especially when she found the stables.

The braying of the mules and the smell of hay comforted her. The British had stopped using horses on the front line for two years now, but they kept them for hauling jobs and training. Ever since Ella had sold Windy, she’d been pining to get back on a horse. She walked down the concrete hallway, open to an arena on one side and stalls on the other. A whinny from one particular stall stopped her, and a horse stuck his head out of his window two stalls ahead of Ella, his ears perked. 

“Hey, boy,” Ella murmured, stepping up to the horse and offering her hand for him to scent. He pushed his nose into her palm, looking for a treat. Windy had done the same thing, except this horse was at least 8 inches taller than her, tying for the same height as Ella at his shoulder. His head was almost as long as Ella’s torso. 

“That’s Brutus,” said a Cockney-accented voice behind Ella as she stroked the horse’s forehead. It was the stablehand, toting a wheelbarrow filled with hay for morning feedings.

“He’s gorgeous,” replied Ella.

“He is. Fiery, tha’ one. Only 5 years old. No lineage for ‘im, but we think Percheron and some dressage stud.”

Ella glanced into the stall, taking in Brutus’ confirmation. His hips were tall and muscled, legs long, but not as thick as a draft horse’s. The stablehand was probably right - a mix of the powerful, heavy pulling horses and the agility of a show horse.

“He’s broken, I assume?”

“O’ course. You want a go?”

“I’d like to, yes, if you don’t mind.”

“I’d ‘ave to know if you’ve ridden before. He can be a handful.”

Ella nodded. “Of course. I had a mare in the States before I came over here, since I was a girl. She was a Paint, not nearly as tall as this one but when my Papa and I broke her, she was nasty herself sometimes.”

The stablehand shrugged. “As long as you stay in one of the arenas. His saddle is fourth from the door in the tack room. May have to shorten the stirrups a bit, though, Miss.” He glanced at her jacket. “Sorry, Corporal.” An odd look, and he moved on, throwing hay into the next stall.

Down the hall in the tack room, Ella welcomed the smell of dust and leather. It was just like her father’s shop in Bell County. Things here on the base kept reminding her of home and it was bittersweet. Sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep, she wondered what would have happened to her if her father hadn’t been killed. Probably working in the leather shop, maybe even married off by now. Once, she had overheard her Papa talking to their neighbors when they had come by with a few loaves of bread from their wheat farm.

_ “You’re doing wonderful with that girl of yours, Andrew.” _

_ “Thank you, Mrs. Douglas. How’s your boy?” _

_ “Oh, he’s fine. I think soon he’s taken a shine to Miss Ella. She’s a pretty one.” _

_ “Just like her mother. She’s not afraid of the animals, but she does well in the house, too.” _

_ “I’ll say. This place looks beautiful. She has a nice touch, even at twelve.” _

From there they had moved on to what the fall rain would be like, but it was clear that before long, Ella’s best prospect was a wife on a wheat farm. When she tried to imagine what that was like, she couldn’t. She was 20 years old and had grown up, and she had been given another agenda when Aldo told her that he was heading to Montana. 

Ella made her way back to Brutus’ stall with the saddle and tacked up, putting pressure between his ears so he would bend down to put the bridle on. His hooves were light ande he was eager for a workout. There was no chance of swinging up onto Brutus from the ground, so they entered the outdoor arena and she climbed up the fence to reach the stirrups. The horse’s coat shone in the rare late-winter sun, a dappled buckskin fading to white socks on his legs and a wide stripe on his face. His mane was short and dark, slightly frizzy, but soft. This would be the first time she’d ridden since she sold Windy, but she had been waiting for a chance to get back at it. It reminded her of home.

She hoisted herself up and swung her leg over Brutus’ back. This was taller than she had ever been, and when she clucked her tongue to signal a walk, Brutus listened beautifully. He performed his paces well, save for when he tried to lengthen his stride and turn the canter into a slow gallop. 

“Handful, huh? You just need a workout,” she 

"Hey, Corporal Demski!" Aldo was at the other end of the arena, standing next to another man with dark hair, waving her over.

"Let's get 'em, huh, boy?" Ella murmured. She tucked her heels into his sides, and just like she'd hoped, the horse took off, barreling towards the men at an alarming pace. His legs were long and he covered the distance in seconds before Ella tightened the reins. He skidded to a stop, bouncing his front hooves up once in enjoyment.

"Dammit, girl, let you 'round any horse 'n you damn near take my heart outta my chest."

Ella hopped down and stood at attention, draping the reins over her shoulder. There was a hint of a smile on her face, enough for Aldo to see. “Sorry, sir.”

"Ella, this is Sergeant Donny Donowitz. Sarge, Corporal Ella Demski."

Ella saluted first and made her way to the gate, the reins still over her shoulder. Aldo would only be introducing this handsome Sergeant if he was going to be part of their little Nazi-hunting party, and she tried hard to keep her excitement to herself.

"Now let's get something straight," Aldo started. "This unit they're giving us ain't like what we’ve done before. Us and eight other men are gonna raise hell in there, and we’re gonna be alone. We’re relyin’ on each other. The General ain’t gonna have shit to say when we’re out there hunting in the forest, you git me? It’s just gonna be our little family.”

“Yes, sir,” Donowitz replied. Ella nodded, glancing at their new compatriot.

“Ella, I want you to the shooting range when you’re done with this. Then meet up with Donny and you two git to know each other, all right? We’ll hit the mess for dinner together, the three of us. We'll go over some of them recruits, 'n I'll have them chosen by supper. As you were, I got business with the General."

Ella returned Aldo’s snappy salute as he turned to leave. She busied herself with Brutus’ reins, untangling them before turning back to the gate.

"Hey, uh, Corporal?"

Ella turned to the Sergeant, getting a good look at him. His hair was dark and thick, carefully groomed earlier but tossed a little bit since then. Dark, intense eyes stared back at her, sizing her up just the same way. He had a strong jaw and broad shoulders under his woolen jacket, . 

"Whaddya say, meet around eleven? Front of the officer's barracks?"

"Sure, Sergeant.” She couldn’t help but smile. His accent was strong; there was no mistaking where he came from _.  _ Brutus pawed the ground behind her and snorted again. Ella rolled her eyes. "Impatient boy," she intoned, turning to rub the huge animal's face.

"I don't know how you do it," Donowitz said, looking past her at Brutus for a moment. He was quite a bit taller then Ella, but the way he eyed the horse made his feelings clear. "He’s big enough to kill me."

"Then you make sure they don’t want to kill you,” Ella replied. "They're like big dogs, most of 'em." 

“How did you even get up there?” 

“I used the fence. It’s a little awkward but it works.” 

“Nah, let me give you a boost this time.” Eyeing Brutus, Donowitz stepped up next to the horse. He crouched a little and wove his fingers together, ready to hoist. 

“Well, Sergeant,” she mused. “Thank you.” She placed her boot in his hands and without a word they lifted as one, already in sync. She vaulted up and landed lightly on Brutus’ back.  “Sergeant?” 

“Call me Donny,” he said, looking up at her from the ground. Ella saw his hand drift to Brutus’ neck to give him a scratch and she hid a grin.

“Donny,” she corrected. As she spoke, she put light pressure on the reins, directing Brutus to back up through the gate into the arena. “I’m Ella.”

“Ella.” He said her name once, testing it on his tongue. “Eleven o’clock?”

“Eleven o’clock.” She turned Brutus away first, making sure Donny didn’t see her blush. By the time she had done a lap around the arena, he was gone, the gate still hanging open.

“Gotta teach that city boy how to close the gate for a lady,” she murmured to the horse, who snorted in agreement.


	4. Hell and Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella dredges up her past.

The shooting range was always difficult. She had tied her hair back and made sure her uniform was tidy buElla could not take a stall and target without getting shoved or elbowed by other soldiers, some below her rank, a few above. She just kept her head high. Even if she wasn’t perfectly capable of defending herself, Aldo made it known that any man who really tried anything would lose his balls. Rumors flew around the base that Aldo the Apache was batshit crazy, and Ella did nothing to refute them.

After two magazines with each weapon, Ella holstered her handgun and shouldered her rifle. The metal was still warm and both guns felt right at home on her hip and back. If Andrew Demski could see his daughter now, Ella knew that he would holler with joy. That thought always made her smile, even when she was called 'the Lieutenant's Whore' in passing.

Donowitz was waiting for her outside the barracks when she arrived a few minutes after eleven. "Sorry, Sergeant. Hard time getting a spot down at the range."

He furrowed his brows for a moment until he realized just how difficult it could be. “Sorry.”

Ella shook her head. “Don’t be. It wasn’t you.”

He glanced around, “Might sound, y'know, weird, but there's a park a few blocks off the base if you wanna talk where it's quiet."

She smiled just a little. "Aldo told us to get to know each other. I think the park is a good idea," she said. Donowitz smiled back, relieved. "Though I will have to change. I shouldn’t be seen in public with my uniform. The General was clear about that." 

"I'll wait," Donowitz said, and Ella double-timed inside to her bunk. She took out a plain grass-green dress with short sleeves, belted at the waist, and a black crocheted shawl to fend off the chill. Her boots were tossed aside for a pair of small-heeled shoes, plain black and shiny. She didn't have many civilian clothes yet, but what she did have was versatile enough.

They made their way to the park and found a bench. They easily had a little more than an hour before dinner mess to talk. Donny crossed his legs and spread his arms over the back of the bench, his uniform rustling a little. 

"So, Donny, are you from New England?"

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever makes you say that?" He paused for her laugh. "Boston, to be exact. You?"

"Southern Kentucky. Until I was fifteen, anyway. Then all over." 

"Can I ask how a pretty girl got sucked into this mess?"

This time, she couldn’t hide her blush. “Only if you’ll tell me how you got here, too.” 

"Fair enough." He shifted to look at her better, waiting for the story. Somehow he knew it was going to be good. 

"Well," she began, "it was just me and my papa in Bell county. He was the tanner, and after my mama died of fever, I ran the house and helped keep the animals. He came home drunk one night after winning a poker game, talking about the Nazis killing the Poles and wanting to fight them himself. Bourbon, and all that. Well, two German men he had just beaten at poker came by and stabbed him at our dinner table. I had just turned fourteen." 

Donny's eyebrows shot up. “Jesus.”

"Wait for the good part.” Ella hadn’t told this story in years. Aldo was the only one that had heard it, and here she was spilling her most gruesome acts to this man that was almost a stranger. “I packed up my things, got my mare ready, and followed those men home from town. Buried my papa's hatchet in their skulls."

Donny blinked a few times. “Sounds like they got what was comin’.”

Ella’s gaze drifted. “My papa was all I had left. I felt like I couldn’t move on unless I took my vengeance. And after that, I just...left.”

“Is that when you joined up with Aldo?”

For a moment she paused. She considered telling Donny exactly how they met, but decided to exclude a few details. "We met in Tennessee, while I was traveling. We look after each other. He was enlisted back onto the military when we had been moving around for about four years. He told them that we were coming together, or not at all." She sighed at the memory.

"And they took you.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. 

"Miraculously, yes. And here I am," she finished. "What about you, Donny Donowitz from Boston?" She had told him things she seldom told anyone, and she needed to turn the conversation elsewhere. Donny must have sensed it because he gladly steered the attention away.

"Well, it's not as exciting as your story. Born and raised in Boston. I watched baseball all my life. I suppose I would have gone out for the Red Sox if I didn’t get the opportunity to come kill Nazis. I intend to kill every Nazi i can before goin' home, whether on my feet or in a box." Donny leaned back against the bench, looking out over the park. “My bat’s been itching to take another one.” 

“Your bat?” Her imagination started running wild, imagining a bloodstained bat in his powerful hands.

Donny grinned. “I’ll show you when we get back to base. She’s beautiful.”

“I can’t wait,” she murmured in reply. Ella let the two of them simmer in silence for a minute, taking the moment they had to relax. "I listened to the Brooklyn Dodgers when they were on the radio. I didn’t learn many of the rules, though. Can you teach me?”

“Yeah I can fuckin teach you!” Donny exclaimed. “First of all, you gotta get away from those Dodgers. They’re no good. Aside from my Red Sox, those Detroit Tigers are a team to watch out for next --”

“Donny,” Ella interrupted, laughing. “I meant on the road. There’s going to be a lot of spare time.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, I guess I’ll wait.” 

She paused to let a woman walk by with a pram, cooing to her baby. “How do you feel about this whole thing?”

“What, goin’ in there on our own?”

“Yeah.”

“We gotta do what it takes. It already looks like we’re gonna have a team that can handle it.” Ella saw the glance he gave her, Did he say anything about you going undercover?”

“Yes. I was fitted for dresses yesterday.” She sighed. “Not my usual fanfare, but I don’t mind.”

"Can I ask you somethin', Ella?"

"Sure."

"How often do you get to be a normal girl?"

Ella sighed, trying to think of the last time she’d acted as she was  _ expected _ to by the normal people around her. "Thing is, Donny, I wasn't made for that. My mama wasn't either, and neither was her mama before her. My papa knew it, and I think Aldo knew it from the moment we met.” The hand fiddling with the fringe on her shawl fell to her lap. “I think I'm meant to be here. So I guess you could say this is my normal." She leaned against the back of the bench.

Donny studied her for just a moment, and then the same nonchalant, almost egotistical look was back on his face. "These Nazis got another damned thing comin'." He looked up at the sky, watching the gloomy English clouds roll in. "Think we could beat the Lieutenant back to the mess hall? I'm fuckin' hungry."

  
  


Donny was beating her at 21 the next morning when Aldo found them in the barracks. "They're here. Tidy up, double time to the courtyard by the trucks."

The officers dropped their cards and straightened out their uniforms, Ella tucking any unruly wisps of hair back into her bun. They each holstered their weapons and Ella belted on the V-42 stiletto knife she had carried since the moment she joined the Devil's Brigade. They glanced over each other, nodded approval, and jogged to meet Aldo. They had arrived, no doubt. Eight dark-haired men stood in the courtyard, fully equipped, packs on their backs. They all snapped to attention when the officers came into view, but Ella felt their eyes on her. 

"At ease, men," she ordered. It wasn't often that she was the one addressing the troops, and she had rehearsed this when no one was around. "I am your Commanding Officer, Corporal Demski. Behind me is Sergeant Donowitz. We have been through hell and back already in this war. Now we’re going again, and you soldiers are coming with us. You have been briefed on why you are here. This is not your average mission. We are about to head straight into enemy territory and make a name for ourselves killing Nazis. Let me tell you something about your new unit. We are different. All that matters is how many Krauts we can kill before this war is over, and how much we can fuck with them while we do it. I am here to fight alongside you, just like Donowitz here and the Lieutenant. You will follow orders, but we will be brothers. Understood?"

"Yes sir!" they chorused, a little unsure.

"I know I'm a girl. You ain't gotta tell me twice. But I enjoy seeing the blood of those mass-murdering bastards just as much as you do. And yeah, 'Sir's is the one to go with."

A few of them were about to smile just as another pair of boots echoed down the hall to the courtyard. Ella spun an about-face and saluted as Aldo emerged.

"Attention!" Donny's booming voice commanded. Ella fell in beside him, letting Aldo take the floor.

"Good show, Corporal," Donny whispered. "I think they're in love."

Though she tried to hide it, a grin broke through her stoic military manner.

Aldo took his snuff out of his pocket, putting a pinch in each nostril, and snapping the tin shut. When he spoke, it was at a normal volume, but Ella found herself hanging on every word as her Lieutenant paced in front of them. 

“My name is Lieutenant Aldo Raine and I'm putting together a special team, and I need me eight soldiers. Eight Jewish-American soldiers. Now, y'all might've heard rumors about the armada happening soon. Well, we'll be leaving a little earlier. We're gonna be dropped into France, dressed as civilians. And once we're in enemy territory as a bushwhackin' guerrilla army, we're gonna be doin' one thing and one thing only... killin' Nazis. Now, I don't know about y'all, but I sure as hell didn't come down from the goddamn Smoky Mountains, cross five thousand miles of water, fight my way through half of Sicily and jump out of a fuckin' air-o-plane to teach the Nazis lessons in humanity. Did you, Corporal?"

"No sir," she answered, shaking her head.

"And you, Sergeant?"

"Not a chance."

Aldo turned back to the recruits. "Nazi ain't got no humanity. They're the foot soldiers of a Jew-hatin', mass murderin' maniac and they need to be dee-stroyed. That's why any and every every son of a bitch we find wearin' a Nazi uniform, they're gonna die. Now, I'm the direct descendant of the mountain man Jim Bridger. That means I got a little Injun in me. This girl over here's part Cherokee. So our battle plan will be that of an Apache resistance. We will be cruel to the Germans, and through our cruelty they will know who we are. And they will find the evidence of our cruelty in the disemboweled, dismembered, and disfigured bodies of their brothers we leave behind us. And the German won't be able to help themselves but to imagine the cruelty their brothers endured at our hands, and our boot heels, and the edge of our knives. And the German will be sickened by us, and the German will talk about us, and the German will fear us. And when the German closes their eyes at night and they're tortured by their subconscious for the evil they have done, it will be with thoughts of us they are tortured with. Sound good?”

“Yes, sir!” the men said again, stronger this time. Ella was as captivated as the rest of them, encouraged with every word. 

“That's what I like to hear. But I got a word of warning for all you would-be warriors. When you join my command, you take on a debit. A debit you owe me personally. Each and every man under my command owes me one hundred Nazi scalps. And I want my scalps. And all y'all will git me one hundred Nazi scalps, taken from the heads of one hundred dead Nazis. Or you will die tryin'.

"Now move! We fly out at 1200!"

The men marched out.


	5. First Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad gets to exercise their skills on their first set of Nazis and Ella gets her nickname.
> 
> I have no proofreader, forgive <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it starts to get Basterd-y. The gratuitous violence begins...or continues, as it were. I've decided to forgo the translation services, so whenever someone speaks more than a word or two in German or French, it'll be in italics. All German this chapter, but I'll make it clear between the two later on.

“All right, we got our intel. Gather ‘round.” Aldo hadn’t told anyone where he went or what he was doing, but he appeared back at camp with a dirty envelope and called them all to the fire. Ella settled on the log between Donny and Zimmerman, who was eating out of a can of baked beans.

“‘Bout five miles out, there’s a few farms that were taken by Colonel Landa a while back. They’ve been using the farmhouses to stash supplies. Use ‘em as a go-between.” Aldo laid out the contents of the envelope: a map of the area and a coded message. “We’ll take one at a time. Leave one man in each house, depending on what we find. We start here and head through to our next site.” He pointed along the route on the map. Ella felt the energy change, their first assignment less than twelve hours away. The men around her had become more than soldiers; they were friends with a common goal. Wicki was another Corporal, an Austrian who made it out of Europe just in time to become an American citizen. He and Ella were the only ones that were fluent in German. Utivich was sort of shy for an army man, and sweet, but he was a crack shot and unbelievably stealthy. These were her men, and they all had a personal vendetta against the Nazis. And they were very good at making sure the Nazis knew it.

“Now, we’re gonna hit those houses and take everything we need. Ain’t no families coming back to ‘em, not now. Gonna hold us over for a while.” He paused, gazing into the fire. “I need to know you’re all ready to do what we’re here for. Tomorrow is the first day of a lot of days, and we’ll truly be on our own. Any of you think you might hesitate, you can head back home.” He paused to look through his recruits. “Though I don’t think any of you are gonna do that.” They all returned his glare, so he outlined the path through the farmland, quiet over the low fire with the Basterds leaning in around him. 

* * *

  
  


Utivich and Wicki were a quarter of a mile ahead, clearing their path just as light started filtering through the trees. None of the soldiers were wearing uniforms - just an assortment of neutral jackets and pants. Ella had on dark green swing pants, belted high at her waist, with a dark khaki shirt tucked into her belt. Over that was a brown wool jacket, and to ward off the cold, a pair of black gloves and a black scarf. Her tall boots were laced up high and tight. She had gotten up a little earlier than the men and french-braided her thick black hair. At the top of the braid, she carefully tied a brilliant white, black-tipped feather. She had worn it just once before when she was only fourteen, and now was the time for her mother’s eagle feather to make its reappearance.

Her rifle was in her arms as she followed Aldo and Donny, weaving through the trees in silence. The French countryside was picturesque: the rolling green hills were smattered with trees and cottages, wooden fences threading through the grass, creating the puzzle of farms that families had farmed for generations. Ella wondered what it had been like when there were cows here, when it was populated and happy. The cows had been cleared out and now the fields were overgrown with wildflowers and weeds, and clotheslines were falling in disrepair. 

The first and second houses were empty, but the third house had more than enough Nazis to go around. The Basterds killed five to start, leaving three alive on their knees in the little house with bullet holes riddling the floorboards. Omar and Kagan set about dragging the dead Germans outside to take their scalps, while Hirschberg and Utivich stripped the live ones of any weapons. Aldo leaned against the old black and white stove, letting Ella take the lead.

_“Thank you for the lovely welcome to France, Krauts.”_ Ella's German was smooth, casual. Wicki had been helping her work on being more colloquial over the last week since they dropped into France. _“My name is Ella, and we are the Basterds. You do not know us yet, but soon, you will tell all of Germany who we are.”_ She meandered through the room, examining the smashed grandfather clock and shattered china cabinet. “ _You,”_ she gestured at the officer, the butt of her rifle under her arm, its muzzle swinging ominously around the kneeling soldiers. _“Speak English?”_

He nodded, staring up at her.

“Then move. Front and center.” She came to a halt in the middle of the room and pointed to the ground in front of her. Zimmerman walked him forward and pushed him back down. Ella stepped aside, letting Aldo do the rest of the talking.

“Like the Corporal said, we’re the Basterds. Now, Sergeant, we want information. Git me?” The German slowly nodded again. Ella smirked at his terrified expression.

“All right, then. What I need is how many men will be moving through here the next few days, and where they’re goin’. Point it out for me.” Aldo spread out the same map between them, even though the Sergeant was violently shaking his head.

“You not gonna say anything?”

“I will not give away our positions. Nein.”

“You sure? ‘Cause we got some fun things planned for you if you don’t.”

The German’s eyes widened and Ella’s smirk grew. _“Speak.”_

Omar returned with bloody hair on his hands, wiping them with one of the dead mens’ jackets. The German suddenly grew angry and spat on Aldo’s boots.

“No need for that, now.” Aldo’s ability to stay calm would never cease to amaze Ella. “This is your last chance, else I’ll call my friend and we’ll give your men a show.”

The German crossed himself and closed his eyes, bowing his shaking head.

“Okay, then. Donny!” Aldo called out, sitting in one of the chairs at the kitchen table and pulling out his snuff box. “You git yourself in here. The Sarge ain’t talkin.”

They could hear Donny’s heavy boots from outside. His jacket was gone, his arms bare, white undershirt stark against his skin. His bat was over his shoulder like he was walking to the plate, the one he had shown Ella the day after they met. Two days earlier, when the Basterds came upon a Nazi deserter, that bat had landed on the Nazi's skull a total of seven times. Omar had winced, but Ella watched with rapt attention. She had only known the Sergeant for a week, but she had never thought that much anger could come out of one man all at once. Ella saw all the notes and signatures, all collected from the people that couldn’t fight for themselves. They were the ones the Basterds were fighting for.

Anger dark in his eyes, Donny reached down to the German’s neck and yanked his dog tags off. “These are mine now,” he growled, stuffing them in his pocket. The trembling German kept his eyes on the ground, mumbling something in his native language. Wicki, who had moved up next to Aldo, translated.

“He is asking for mercy.”

Donny put his bat under the soldier’s chin and made him meet his eyes, uttering a word that meant the same in every language. “No.”

One powerful swing and the German was on the ground, convulsing. Blood splattered Donny and his bat, but he was not finished. He brought it down like an axe, crushing bones and obliterating the soldier’s head. His next shot was at the ribs, and their cracks were even louder than the rest. Donny struck a few more times, the sweat beginning to glisten on his bare arms. The Basterds whooped and hollered, the boys outside leaning in the broken windows to watch.

Ella was enthralled with the action, but she caught the German Private out of the corner of her eye. He leapt up and stumbled for the gap between Ella and the dusty cupboards, but she sidestepped to block his escape, the muzzle of her rifle colliding with his heaving chest. 

_“You are interrupting,”_ she scolded.

“Schlampe!” the Private spat.

He had hardly gotten the word out before Ella swung the butt of her rifle around to meet his cheek. All the anger that she held in from the remarks and whispers behind her back came out in that one hit. The Private fell to his knees, clutching his face. Her men would have plenty of guns on this particular soldier, so she dropped her rifle and unsheathed her stiletto knife. _“You think so?”_ She looked up and her eyes found Donny first, and a fleeting thought wondered if she’d been looking _for_ him. “Hold him,” she said, and Donny was behind the Private in an instant, pinning his arms back. Ella knelt in front of the German, brandishing her knife.

_“Tell me, do you value your fingers? Your toes? Maybe I should cut them off.”_ She feigned thinking for a moment, tapping the bright blade lightly against her lips. _“Or maybe I should mark you like a tiger. You will be known as the man who was made a tiger by a girl. How disgraceful.”_

Blood dripped from the corner of the Private’s mouth. He had lost his former confidence and he looked like a deer staring into the mouth of a wolf. Ella examined him a moment more, then sighed. _“No, I should do this instead.”_ She grasped the Private’s chin in her hand, slipped the blade into his mouth, and pulled it through his bruising cheek. He let out a shriek and tried to thrash away, but Donny held him tight. Ella wiped the blade delicately on the fabric of the German’s pants and stood up.

“Aldo, I think you should ask that last one for what we need to know.”

“Yes ma’am.” There was a small, proud smile on his face as he turned to the last conscious German. “Now, son, you gonna tell us what we need to know?”

He didn’t understand. Wicki had to go over and translate, but Aldo got all the information he asked for with ease. He gave the speech they’d all soon know by heart and with Donny holding him down, Aldo descended on the German to leave his mark. When he ran the idea of carving a swastika into their victims’ foreheads past her, Ella had punched his arm and called him a genius.

“Utivich, help me move this one up against the wall. I don’t want him to choke on his own blood.”

The two of them hauled the open-cheeked Private up and propped him against the mildewy ice box. “Wölfin,” he sputtered, delirious. 

"What does that mean?" Utivich asked, making a face and wiping the Gs blood on the silver uniform patch.

"I'm gonna find out," she replied, ambling over to Wicki. “Wölfin?”

“She-wolf,” he said. “He called you a she-wolf.”

“Not bad. Better than schlampe.”

Wicki nodded, looking on as Aldo marked the soldier. “You had an appropriate reaction.”

“Even out here in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, France,” she sighed.

“Stupid men hate women that are better than them.” He glanced at her just out of the corner of his eye. _“They are angry because they will never get to fuck you.”_

_“They’re right about that,”_ she replied.

“All right,” Aldo announced, surveying their handiwork. “Put him in the yard. We got one more to go.”

Kagan sprang back inside before they could leave. “Car coming down the road. Gotta be this driveway.”

“Everyone in and down,” Aldo ordered, and the whole squad dropped below the window line. “El, Utivich, head ‘round the side, keep an eye out.” 

Before the car could come around, Ella and Utivich crawled out the door, staying low until they were behind the back wall. The car’s loud engine told them exactly where it was and when it sputtered to a stop in front of the house. German voices began overlapping once they saw the scalped soldiers outside.

“Shit, that was a bit obvious,” Utivich grumbled. “What are they saying?”

“Mostly asking each other what’s happening,” she murmured, concentrating. The words were hard to pick out when there were so many at once. “I think there’s three.”

Utivich reached over and knocked three times on the windowsill above them.

“I got one coming around this way,” Ella whispered, listening to the voice separate from the others. “Would you mind terribly?”

“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing with his pistol.

She pulled her stiletto knife and crouched. Utivich followed her lead. The click of the Walther was just around the corner and Ella sprang just as the house leapt into action, the other Germans finding the Basterds waiting to ambush. Her elbow led around the corner, high enough to catch the average man in the abdomen or crotch. She was glad to find she hit the latter. Before the soldier knew what hit him, she slipped behind him and dragged the blade across his throat, spinning him away from Utivich. 

“Damn,” Utivich mused.

“Just like a pig,” she grunted, letting the body fall. “Give me just a moment to get this scalp and we’ll go.”

Just as she said it, Aldo leaned out the broken window above them. “We’re clear.”

“Us too,” Utivich replied, watching Ella scalp the Nazi.

“Good. Let’s high-tail it outta here.”


End file.
